


Ocean Currents

by duesternis



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Fishing, Kissing, M/M, Pining, john hartnell slacks off work and loves his wife, quick slow burn, vague fade away sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: The fish-man’s hand came over the waterline, cupping Charles’ knee in a tentative touch. His fingers had thin webs between them up to the first knuckle. Blue-tinged.“Are you going to eat me?”“No.”“Say your name again?”“Why?”“I like the sound of it.”With a perfect roll of his eyes the fish-man complied.Charles watched the gulls soar overhead.“Sounds a bit like all the things I love about the ocean in one name.”
Relationships: Charles Best/William Frederick Pilkington
Kudos: 4





	Ocean Currents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itspilkiebitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itspilkiebitch/gifts), [Faye_Reynolds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faye_Reynolds/gifts), [theblindtorpedo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/gifts).



> HAPPY PILKDAY!!!
> 
> Pilk is a betta-fish merman with a halfmoon plakat tail in gorgeous blue and red, yes i am aware they are tropical freshwater fish, no i don't care, but thanks for your interest! <3

John was asleep in the bow and Charles – with a soft grunt – tossed the net out a second time.  
The ocean was calm around them, slate grey in the earliest hours of the morning, clouds running overhead like horses.  
A few early birds coasted on the easy breeze flowing out from the land and Charles took a deep breath, arms spread.  
It was a gorgeous day.  
The water gurgled and sloshed against the boat, John snored and Charles sat down, idly turning the little whittling project he had started yesterday in his hands.  
It was supposed to be a fish, but it looked vaguely like a loaf of bread.  
Or a particularly misshapen potato.  
He whiled away a good half hour, John snoring sometimes, his feet twitching against the mast.  
How such a tall man could curl up in such a small space was always astonishing to Charles.

After a particularly loud snore Charles leaned forward to tap his ankle, when the line securing the net gave a mighty lurch, the boat rocking from the force.  
The buoys had sunken without a trace.  
“Oh shit.”  
Another tug.  
John slept on, the bastard.  
Before whatever was caught in the net could capsize them, Charles started hauling net like his life depended on it.  
Well, maybe it did.  
Or maybe he was forfeiting it with pulling their demise aboard.  
Anyway.

He gave a good last heave, arms burning, and stood amidst the disorderly coils of their net, fish flapping, crabs snipping and John snoring.  
Charles stopped, breathing heavily, heart beating out of his chest.  
There was something big in the net. Right at the bottom.  
Not a seal.  
Colourful.  
Colourful, big and very, very angry.  
“Shit. Uh-oh.”

There were hands. Tearing at the net.  
There was a person under that colourful stuff.  
“Hey, wait a second, I’ll get you out!”  
John gave a mighty snore and Charles cursed him out, cutting the net apart with his whittling knife.  
It would be a chore to fix it, but better than having someone suffocate in it.  
He would make John do it.  
Bastard was sleeping through this, so he could fix the mess.

The colourful fabric moved and a pale face poked out between seaweed and some choking fish.  
“Are you alright?”  
The man lurched forward and then Charles had very many sharp teeth embedded in his arm.  
And it became quite apparent, that the colourful fabric was no fabric at all, but rather elaborate fins, attached to a strong fishtail.  
A vibrant shade of blue, the fins a blinding red.  
Shiny, small scales thinned out over the back of the man, only the spine covered by them.  
The rest was pale skin – tinged blue by maybe veins or the cold or it possibly just looked like that – and then a shock of dark hair on a head that was very close to Charles, courtesy of the teeth in his arm.  
“Ouch.”

The teeth left his skin as quickly as they’d entered it and the man-fish was over the side of the boat and in the water quicker than a breath.  
Blood trickled down Charles’ arm and he sat down among twitching fish and the mess of the net.  
John gave a snore, coughed and sat up.  
“What in the Lord’s name did you do, Charles?”  
Charles tossed a fish at his head and leaned back against the mast with a sigh.  
“Damn your eyes, John, and get us back home.”

It was almost a fortnight later that Charles saw the man-fish, or fish-man?, again.  
John was busy helping his brother on his farm, so Charles had decided against taking the boat out, instead opting for some line fishing by the cliffs.  
Not that he was particularly adept, but it was fun.  
His bucket had three fish in it by now, and he was just tossing the line out again when there was a flash of colour by an outcropping of rock a good hundred metres out in the water.  
Red and blue.  
Quite unmistakable, and not only because he had spent every waking hour thinking of the fish-man.

Charles stood, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun.  
Behind the rock the water moved and then the pale torso of the fish-man surfaced. He pushed himself up on the rock with his arms and then sat there, colourful tail mostly out of sight.  
The fishing rod in Charles’ hand gave a tug and he reeled it in quickly, adding the fish to his bucket.  
The fish-man sat there, facing the cliffs and Charles imagined in a fancy that he was looking at him, just as Charles was doing.  
Maybe they had thought of each other.

He lifted an arm and waved, the wind tearing at his jacket, gulls lifting off the cliff face below, squawking wildly.  
The blue tail flicked on the stone, the big fins shifting, coming into view, catching the wind like sails, and then the fish-man slipped back into the water.  
It made Charles feel somewhat dejected and he sat back down before tossing his line again.  
Maybe his waving had spooked him, or he had thought it a sign of aggression.  
Charles didn’t really know what counted as friendly behaviour in fish society.  
A tug on the line.  
At least the fishing was good today.  
He reeled it in and was faced with an empty hook.

“God damn it,” he said quietly to himself and hooked another worm, tossing the line back out.  
It didn’t take long for another tug.  
This time Charles waited a moment longer, until the hooked fish tried to get loose again.  
Then he reeled in quickly.  
And Lord, that was a catch.  
With a joyed little exclamation Charles knocked it on the rocks twice, then added it to his bucket, which was more than half full now.  
Below in the water the fish-man splashed, fins flicking and his pale face showing over the surf again.  
“Thank you,” shouted Charles down, waving again.  
This time the fish-man breached the water with his own hand and mimicked Charles.  
Or waved back, maybe. It could be that he knew the gesture.

Swiftly Charles collected his things and hurried towards the rocky beach between the cliffs, where there were more tide pools and gurgling holes in the stones than any safe spot to put your feet.  
Still.  
He left his bucket and fishing rod in the shade of a cliff and then got as close to the water as he could without taking a potentially dangerous plunge.  
Then he stood still, the water gurgling and sloshing directly under him, the seagulls returned to their perches.  
And the water was breached.  
The fish-man poked his head out of the surf and Charles smiled at him, waving softly.  
A long-fingered hand waved back, the sea rolling over the fish-man from behind.

He re-appeared closer to Charles, tail stretched out behind him his fins moved slightly in the currents, like gossamer on a breeze.  
“Hello,” Charles said quietly, squatting down on his rock.  
The water certainly threatened the continued driness of his person, but some things were totally worth getting wet over.  
The fish-man floated a bit closer, took hold of the edge of a natural basin in a bigger rock and hauled himself half out of the water.  
“You’re bad at fishing,” he said, voice hoarse.  
“Uh,” said Charles smartly and got a face full of sea water, courtesy of a choppy wave.

The fish-man made a noise that Charles interpreted as a laugh and Charles wiped salt out of his eyes, grinning.  
“Thank you for that last fish. I think you were responsible for that.”  
“You cut me from the net, I only wanted to return the favour. I will not be indebted to a human.”  
Charles nodded and smiled.  
The fish-man was gorgeous up close and in a situation that was not immediately life-threatening for either of them.  
Dark hair, pale skin – still that compelling blue hue – and completely black eyes.  
His teeth were sharp against his lip and Charles remembered how they had sunk into his arm.  
The wound still ached sometimes, the scars fresh and pink.

“I’m Charles.”  
The fish-man blinked his black eyes and flicked his tail in the water.  
“Do you have a name?” tried Charles again, wiping water from his face with his soggy sleeve.  
“Yes.”  
“What is it?”  
“You couldn’t pronounce it,” said the fish-man and slipped back into the water to his armpits.  
The next wave rolled over him and soaked Charles’ shoes. He took them off and tossed them back to where he had put his bucket.  
Then he sat down on the wet rock, feet in the water.  
“Try me.”  
With a scoff the fish-man pushed close again. So close that Charles could smell brine in his hair.  
He opened his mouth, the seagulls screeched, the water bashed itself against the cliffs, and the name the fish-man said was all that and more.  
Charles had no hopes to ever repeat that.  
But he wanted to hear it again and again.  
“Say it again.”

The fish-man scoffed, brows pulled together, but repeated his name.  
In the middle there was a hard stop, followed by a soft purr that reminded Charles of the zip of lines high in the rigging.  
“It’s gorgeous. Does it mean anything?”  
“It means me.”  
Charles laughed and nodded, feet splashing in the water. They touched something fleetingly and he stopped swinging.  
The touch came back. Soft and gentle, like a warm breeze on the back of your neck.  
Around his ankle, up his calf.  
“Legs, right?”  
“Yes. Were you ever this close to a pair of them before?”  
“Only the bones.”

The fish-man’s hand came over the waterline, cupping Charles’ knee in a tentative touch. His fingers had thin webs between them up to the first knuckle. Blue-tinged.  
“Are you going to eat me?”  
“No.”  
“Say your name again?”  
“Why?”  
“I like the sound of it.”  
With a perfect roll of his eyes the fish-man complied.  
Charles watched the gulls soar overhead.  
“Sounds a bit like all the things I love about the ocean in one name.”  
The wind carried the bark of a dog from inland and the fish-man dropped under the water immediately.  
For a moment longer Charles could see the red of his fins, then even that was lost to the murky grey-blue of the sea.  
Only the seagulls kept calling, the wind whispered in Charles’ ear and the water gurgled.  
His feet were cold and the way back to his bucket and shoes was slippery and harrowing.  
The walk home brisk.

Two hours before dawn and the wind filled their sail to the brim.  
John had the rudder and Charles was watching the lines.  
Today was going to be a good day.  
“Looks like it’s going to be clear, after that storm.”  
“Good fishing, I think.”  
John laughed and brought them out of the wind, Charles turning the sail to bring them to a stop.  
Together they dropped their stone anchor and then tossed the net out.  
Settled in for a smoke.  
Charles packed the bowl of his pipe tightly; John preferred a looser pack.  
They lit up and then watched the horizon, boat bobbing gently in the waves. The buoys on the net bobbed along, a gull took a rest on one and then went on after a moment.

“How’s your brother?” asked Charles half an hour in.  
John sucked on his pipe, bowl almost burned out.  
“He’s good. Sheep are fine. That friend of his is good with them.”  
“Shepherd to his flock.”  
John laughed and tapped the tobacco ash into the water.  
“Reckon you’re not wrong there.”  
With a yawn he stretched and eyed the bow. Charles shoved him towards it with a grin.  
“Go on then! Tell your wife not to keep you up so late next time we want to take the boat out, though, I might actually have need for you with the nets eventually.”  
John pulled Charles into a half hug and pressed a sloppy kiss to his temple.  
“I can’t deny the Missus a wish, you know me! I appreciate it, Charles. Just give me a kick when you need me, I’ll be up in no time!”  
“Sure, John, sure.”  
Charles watched him curl up in the bow, head pillowed on his arms and a few moments later John was asleep.

Not long after the buoy furthest out was pulled under water and then sprang up again.  
A breath later the next one, and so forth, until something knocked against the hull.  
Charles looked down into the water and caught a glimpse of bright red.  
The fish-man circled the boat two or three times and then poked his head out by the rudder.  
“Hullo,” said Charles and waved.  
The fish-man came closer and rose out of the water, high enough that he could rest his arms on the railing.  
“Hello.”  
He showed his sharp teeth in a grin or grimace and Charles smiled back.

“I like your ship. It’s not so big, doesn’t chase the fish away that much.”  
Something thumped against the keel and the boat rocked gently, John snoring in the bow.  
“That was your tail, right? Or are we getting more company?”  
The fish-man scoffed and then it thumped a second time against the boat.  
“I am not in the habit of showing humans around, so you can stay calm, Charles. It’s just me out here.”

The fish-man ducked under water for a moment and then came up again.  
Water dripped down his face in round droplets that Charles had never seen in such perfection.  
Not even in drawings.  
They looked more like pearls than water and he couldn’t help himself. He reached out and touched one slowly rolling down the pale temple of the fish-man.

“You can call me Bill,” he said and the pearl of water rolled over Charles’ fingernail and came apart on his skin.  
“Bill,” murmured Charles with a smile, hand cupping the wet cheek. “Nice to meet you properly.”

The skin under his hand was cool and wet and felt distinctly different from human skin in a way that Charles couldn’t really put a finger on, but it was noticable.  
“You’re warm.”  
“Unlike you. Do you ever get cold?”  
“Of course. Not every ocean is cozy and warm, Charles. Some have ice in them, you know.”  
“Oh, really? I had no idea.”  
Bill frowned at Charles, lip pulled up over his teeth, and his tail thumped the boat again. Twice, in quick succession.  
“I’m joking, Bill.”  
“You’re not very good at that.”

Charles barked a laugh and slipped his hand into Bills’ hair, ruffling it.  
Bill dove, and Charles’ knocked his hand against the hull of the boat, the hollow thump rolling over the quiet sea.  
An answering thump from below and Charles leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse of Bill in the water.  
His breath stuck in his throat.  
The red fins were spread out in the water like an exquisite gown, floating in the currents with an airiness that made Charles think of fairy-queens and endless springs.  
Bill smiled up at him, arms crossed behind his head, as if he were reclined in a meadow, Charles leaning over him.  
With a shaky sigh Charles put a hand to the surface of the calm water and Bill reached up from below, until their fingers touched gently.

Against the cold water Bill’s skin felt almost warm.  
Smooth and curious his long fingers slipped between Charles’, until Charles touched the delicate webbing.  
Bill lifted his head out of the water, tail coming below him to keep him steady in the water.  
“Careful.”  
“I won’t hurt you.”  
Charles smiled at him and the skin over Bill’s ribcage lifted.  
Gills, of course.  
It was somewhat jarring to see them move so clearly, and Charles couldn’t avert his eyes.  
Bill’s fingers moved over the back of Charles’ hand and then Bill’s face was suddenly very close.  
He smelled of salt.

“Charles.”  
He blinked, his big black eyes alight with the rising sun.  
He was beautiful.  
Charles smoothed a lock of hair out of Bill’s forehead, fingers lingering on his skin again.  
Bill leaned into it, gills fluttering like wings.  
His tail twisted in the water, fins moving, curtains beset by a breeze.  
“Bill,” he said quietly and touched his thumb to the delicate skin under Bill’s right eye.  
The buoys of the net all dropped a good inch at the same time.

“You caught something.”  
“Can you check what it is?”  
Charles was loathe to let go of Bill, but Bill dropped below smoothly.  
Emerged a moment later.  
“Herrings. They look good. Will you get them out?”  
“I think so. You best hide below, I’m going to wake John for this.”  
Bill lifted his head over the railing and looked at the curled up, snoring John.  
Grinned and then dropped under the boat.

Charles woke John with a well placed kick to the thigh and together they hauled the full net in.  
Boat filled with wriggling, gasping fish neither of them had much motivation to stay out here and wait for another swarm.  
Charles tapped the hull as he pulled up the stone anchor.  
Bill thumped against the keel and John looked over the railing with a frown.  
“Did you hear that?”  
“Hear what?”  
“Thought I heard a thump.”  
“I didn’t hear anything, John.”

John yawned and shrugged, one hand on the rudder while Charles waded through the fish to hoist the sail properly.  
“Maybe I’m still half asleep. I had a good dream, though.”  
“Dreamt of the Missus?”  
John laughed and the sail unfurled with a satisfying crack, Charles making sure they caught the wind properly.

And then they soared across the waters, back home.  
Charles stood on the railing, naked feet on the wood, hand on a line and nose in the wind.  
Something big moved a good two metres off their bow and Charles squinted against the glare of the sun, trying to make out what it was.  
He had a feeling it was Bill.  
A flick of a red fin broke the surface and Charles whooped a laugh, John joining in, the joy of cutting a boat through a wave enough for him.  
Normally it would be for Charles too, but Bill swimming alongside them was far better than cresting any wave.

Their big haul of herring was only the beginning of a lucky streak that left them busy for a good week, nets always full.  
It also meant that Charles had not much time to meet with Bill.  
Sure, he hung around when Charles and John were out with the boat, but more than a glimpse or a shared grin wasn’t possible.  
John didn’t sleep when the fishing was this good.  
Which was good, since Charles really needed the help hauling the full nets in.  
But he still missed joking with Bill, while John snored away in the bow.

As things are wont to be, though, after the week of herrings, their days slowed down again.  
And the weather took a turn, rain and wind rolling over the coast, like a beast roaming its territory; a precursor for the true storms that the change of seasons would bring.  
Charles still ventured down to the cliffs every day, oil-skin slick with rain, hat pulled over his ears.  
The rocks where he had sat with Bill were almost always covered by churning water, the spray rising up to the tops of the cliffs.  
Charles stood there, hands deep in his pockets, and eyes turned out towards the sea.  
He twisted his pipe in his pocket, thumb running over the smooth bowl, thinking of the smooth feeling of Bill's skin under his hand, the flash of scales in early morning sunlight.

The sun broke through a gap between the thick grey clouds and the sea shone like a polished slab of stone, Charles inhaling the salty air with a small smile.  
Hoped that Bill was safe somewhere under the surface, away from the choppy waves and wind.  
He imagined him curled up in some underwater cave, maybe gazing out into the water, like it were a garden.  
Maybe sitting with friends or family, busy doing fish-people crafts, joking and singing songs together.  
With a little nod Charles decided to ask Bill about his life under the sea next time they talked.

The storms raged on, only the cold of winter finally forcing them into submission.

Charles had a little crackling fire lit behind himself, warming his back and Bill had half-beached himself, the surf lapping over his tail from time to time, but he was still firmly on the sand.  
Which was – admittedly – a bit uncomfortable, cold and grainy as it was against his chest, but Charles was worth it.  
He had decided during the stormy weeks, where they had hardly seen each other, that Charles was worth many things.

Bill had been swimming circles, the sea grey and choppy above him, worrying himself sick over Charles and his little boat.  
So when he had seen the hull on the first day of calmer seas, Bill had covered the distance in a heartbeat, breaking the surface quickly.  
It was as jarring as always, the wind loud, the sun glaring and the air frigid.  
But there was Charles.  
Looking healthy and hale, cheeks red from the wind and a hat covering his soft hair.  
Bill carefully lifted himself higher, until he saw the sleeping bundle of Charles’ friend in the boat. He had a blanket and was snoring.  
So it was safe.  
“Charles,” he said quietly and moved closer, until he could pull himself up on the rough wood of the boat.

“Bill!”  
Charles’ hands were warm on his cheeks, and his breath hot on Bill’s forehead. It warmed his skin like the sun in summer.  
Then Charles pressed his lips to Bill’s temple, his brow, under his eye.  
“You’re safe! I was so worried about you during the storms!”  
Bill scoffed and touched two fingers to the back of Charles’ wrist.  
“I was worried about you. I’m much safer in the water than you could ever be. Even with your boat. I was made for this, Charles.”  
With a single slap of his tail Bill rocked the boat and Charles grabbed on tightly to his forearms, eyes bright with joy.  
They were very close again.

Bill inhaled a lungful of cold air and Charles leaned even closer, pressing his warm lips to the corner of Bill’s mouth.  
His gills had fluttered.  
His fins had splayed, which was quite unspectacular if no one saw.

They had promised each other then to meet every day, and up to now they had both kept their promise.  
Which meant that Bill had seen more of the shore than he cared for, but Charles made it worth his while.  
With his songs and tales and the little trinkets he brought Bill.  
Shiny coins, pictures, jewels.  
All things Bill liked, but not one of those was as dear to him as Charles’ red cheeks and his sparkling eyes.  
His warm voice when he greeted Bill.  
The gentle, but never shy touch of his dry hands.  
And the soft lips that Charles kept pressing to Bill’s face.

“Kisses,” he had called them, cheeks redder than ever after Bill had asked, and explained that it meant that he liked Bill. Very much.  
That they were close friends.  
Bill privately thought it was like a dance. Like twirling tails and flaring gills.  
Which was really uncomfortable when you were lying on them, as Bill had found out recently.  
But what was he supposed to do, when Charles leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth with a soft smile? Not flare his gills?

“What are you thinking about, Bill?”  
He looked at Charles, tilted his head a bit and ran his tongue over the back of his teeth.  
“You.”  
“Oho! That’s nice of you to say.”  
Charles smiled softly, kissed Bill again. His warm hands cupped Bill’s face and Charles looked at him for a long moment.  
Bill pushed himself up on his arms - too impatient to wait for Charles to finish - and kissed Charles.  
It felt weird to start it, but Charles made a happy little sound and tilted his head, so that their mouths fit better together.  
And it was nice to lean into Charles and have Charles hoist him up into his warm embrace.  
Until Bill was curled around him.

“You’re heavier than you look,” said Charles softly into the crook of Bill’s neck, his breath tickling and hot on the skin there.  
Bill slapped him around the head with his tailfin.  
It only made Charles laugh, his face buried in Bill’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist, just where the scales got thinner.  
Idly Bill traced his hands over Charles’ clothes, the weave and texture of them making his skin prickle.  
In return Charles carefully followed the trail of scales over Bill’s spine up to the base of his neck. There he opened his palm, covering the back of Bill’s neck with its warmth.  
They kissed again.

The fire crackled and Bill pulled his tail closer, not wanting a spark to burn his fins.  
Charles adjusted his hold on him and Bill leaned back, opening his mouth to say something, when Charles licked into it.  
His tongue was wet and fleshy, as tongues tended to be and Bill just so kept himself from biting down on it.  
Instead he licked it.  
And – judging from the little noise Charles spilled into Bill’s mouth – he liked it.

It took another try, a wet stripe that Charles licked over Bill’s bottom lip, for him to get really behind it, but then he was hooked.  
And a quick study, if Charles’ gasping was anything to go by.  
Well, he tended to do that, but the frequency was new.  
The breathy quality of the gasps too, as if Charles couldn’t be bothered to breathe properly, for it would mean a lack of kissing.  
Bill eventually leaned back, hands firm on Charles’ shoulders.  
“Stop.”  
Charles blinked at him, eyes unfocussed, cheeks crimson.  
“What is it?”  
“You’re going to choke. Breathe.”

With a breathless chuckle Charles leaned back a bit and then inhaled deeply. Bill’s gills flared in time with his breaths.  
He wished they were in the water.  
Bill would dance around Charles, show him his fins in their entire beauty. Would build him a nest of bubbles.  
Would be so good to him.  
But they were stuck on land, the water too cold for Charles this time of year, and he needed the air.  
Bill would just have to find them a grove  
A little private beach, or strip of shore where Charles could join him, come summer.  
Swim together, hunt together, eat together.

“Bill?”  
He blinked and looked at Charles, his fond little frown.  
“What?”  
“You’re thinking again.”  
He shrugged, slipped out of Charles’ lap and back into the surf, the water nice and cool on his tail.  
“Me again?” needled Charles with a grin, leaned forward like a bird about to take flight.  
Bill scoffed, but judging by Charles laugh and the extremely fond smile, he didn’t really succeed in seeming aloof.  
So he just shrugged again and slid deeper into the water.  
“I’m hungry, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
“Sure. I’m looking forward to it.”  
Charles touched his cheek for a last time and then Bill dove away, quickly crossing the distance to his favourite hunting grounds.

Winter passed slowly, Spring timid in its first steps, the waters barely warming, but then Summer came in full force.  
The sun blazed such that Bill could feel the heat of it even when fully submerged.  
He didn’t envy Charles for having to spend every day up in it, probably sweating out of every pore like a mad man.  
Sweat.  
That was a funny business. Charles’ own personal supply of saltwater.  
Bill couldn't get enough of it.

It was in the early days of Summer – the sea still warming to its hottest – that Bill found a perfect little grove for him and Charles.  
A week of careful planning and he had a bouncy, thick bubble nest that should support at least half of Charles’ weight, if he needed to rest.  
Another two days and he had Charles’ promise to meet him before dawn by the rocks, with the boat.  
A day of no fishing wouldn’t kill them, he had said and Bill had agreed.  
John probably preferred not having to work in the heat too.

And so Charles followed Bill in his boat.  
They looked at each other frequently, Bill making sure that Charles was still there, and Charles just liked looking at him.  
Had said so plenty of times now.  
Bill dove for a deep breath, gills wide open, and then breached again, Charles laughing, waving.  
Before the sun was at its highest they came around a cliff-arm and into the grove.  
The bubble nest was still in its place, everything quiet and undisturbed.  
Good.  
Now came the hard part.

Together they secured the boat and then Charles undressed, piling his clothes in the boat.  
His skin was pale pink from head to toe, covered in odd patches of hair here and there.  
Ungainly, in theory, but quite breath taking in actuality, Bill had found.  
He poked a leg with an outstretched arm.  
They still kind of freaked him out.

“Like what you see?”  
Charles wiggled his toes at Bill and Bill hissed, dropping under the surface.  
He heard Charles laugh dimly and then there was a mighty splash.  
And Charles right next to him, bubbles rising from his nose, limbs moving wildly.  
Bill grinned and kissed him.  
Charles kissed him back until he couldn’t anymore, chest tight with lack of breath under Bill’s hand.  
Together they came up for air, Charles gasping for it, cheeks red.

“Come,” said Bill, and crossed the short distance between boat and nest with a slap of his tail.  
Charles took a moment longer, swimming clumsily with his arms and legs.  
It looked sad.  
“That’s not very efficient.”  
“Well, you know, Bill, we make do, not having been graced with tails that make living in the water a breeze.”  
Bill grinned and tested the firmness of his bubbles.  
Good.  
“Here, you can lean on that.”  
“Oh, that’s pretty! Did you make that?”

Curious Charles touched the bubbles, smoothing a hand over them, the water splashing quietly.  
“Yes.”  
“For me?”  
“Yes.”  
Charles turned around, pressed a quick kiss to Bill’s cheek.  
“Thank you.”  
Bill watched him lean against them carefully, until he was sure they would take his weight. His legs still moved faintly in the water, keeping him afloat, but it looked a lot less strained than before.  
Charles looked around the grove, up at the sky, back to the boat and little strip of rocky beach.  
Then at Bill, eyes warm.  
“This is very nice, Bill, thank you for bringing me here.”

Bill shrugged, diving half under, water coming up to his eyes. This was harrowing.  
His heart hammered in his gills, fins shivering with the strength of his heartbeat.  
No way out but through.

“How long can you stay under water, Charles?”  
“Two minutes, maybe? One definitely. I’m not the best at holding my breath. Why do you ask?”  
“I want to show you something. But it only works under water.”  
“Well, it’s not like I have to dive deep, right? So I can quickly pop up for a breath, if needed.”  
Bill swam up to Charles, kissed the edge of his chin and then sank.  
A moment later Charles followed.

He looked exceptionally weird under water, like a fish out of it.  
He truly wasn’t made for it, but the way he grinned at Bill, hair wild around his head, was still gorgeous.  
Bill’s gills flared.

He twisted in the water, swimming circles around Charles. He knew that the light bounced off his fins and made them shine their brightest red yet.  
Their brightest red for Charles alone.  
Charles moved slowly, clumsily in a circle, trying to keep Bill in his line of sight, simply mesmerized by the full drape of the fins.  
Or at least Bill hoped so.  
It could also be that he didn’t get it at all and was still waiting for Bill to finally start showing him stuff.  
Charles kicked his legs, took a breath of air and came down again, Bill closer now.

He dared to come so close, that his tail fin touched Charles’ back and Charles shivered.  
Bill came to a stop in front of Charles and raised his hands to Charles’ chest.  
He could feel the thrum of his heart, the strain of that held breath, underneath his palm.  
Bill kissed him, his fins brushing up against Charles again.  
He shivered in Bill’s arms, legs unmoving now.  
Easily Bill had them breach the surface and Charles leaned up against the bubble nest, breath washing over Bill’s ear.

“You’re so gorgeous, Bill,” he whispered, hands stroking the blue scales on Bill’s back.  
Then the base of his dorsal fin.  
Now it was Bill’s turn to shiver.  
“Bill, I-”  
Charles swallowed heavily, cheeks red, hair plastered wetly to his forehead.  
Bill kissed him again.  
And again.  
And again.  
Until Charles’ arms were around him and he had him firmly pressed up against the bubble nest.  
With a moan Charles rutted up against him, head resting on the bubbles.  
They bobbed gently in the lazy waves.

“Bill, are you trying to...”  
“To do what?”  
“To.. Well.”  
“Make love with you? To you?”  
Charles laughed, cheeks somehow still getting redder, and then he nodded.  
Bill nodded too.  
With a little laugh and gentle hands on his back Bill was kissed.  
Then Charles turned around hoisting his arms up on the bubble nest. He looked at Bill over his shoulder, and Bill just throbbed.  
His whole body was heartbeat.

Everything after that was easy.

He moved close to Charles, held him, licked the salt from his skin, gills flared and fins spread.  
Charles was hot.  
Hotter than the sun beating down on them, hotter than the warm currents tracing through the ocean.  
Hotter than the milt Bill spilled deep inside him.  
Charles’ milt felt scalding on Bill’s skin, and he knew he would never tire of the feeling.  
Would never tire of the sweet sounds Charles kept making, the way he smiled at Bill over his shoulder through his hair.  
The way he kissed Bill afterwards, all tongue.

“Bill,” he said, their foreheads pressed together, and then: “My dear Bill. Let’s do this again.”  
Bill adjusted his slipping hold on Charles, unsure that he would be able to keep himself afloat, if Bill let go of him.  
“Right now?”  
Charles laughed and kissed him and the world was sunshine.  
Bill felt ready to burst with happiness, and thought quietly that it was something he really would like to get used to.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the lack of explicit fish-dick, maybe next time, this thing kicked my ass as was.


End file.
